


make my wish come true

by msmaj



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Party, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, awry plans, then sat in my brain too long, things started very fluffy, when all things go emo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmaj/pseuds/msmaj
Summary: They say the best laid plans often go awry. Unless you're Jughead Jones, of course, and that often becomes always. Why he ever thought he could pull one over on the universe...At the very least, Christmas will be memorable this year.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Bughead Secret Santa, Home for the HoliDale





	make my wish come true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [easyluckyfree45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/easyluckyfree45/gifts).



> Happiest Christmas, Janet! ( can I tell you how EXCITED I am to start your Potterdale story now without fear of giving myself away! It's A LOT!) 
> 
> It's been such fun getting to know you these past couple of weeks! You are an absolute delight! I hope I was able to take some of the things you wanted to see and make something you enjoy. When you said the season two angst is what really brought you in, my emo brain went into overdrive, and well, this is what happened :)
> 
> Thank you so much for being such a wonderful presence and for all the joy you've brought this year!!
> 
> <3 Mal
> 
> (and legit, as always, all the thanks to Cat for her graphics and editing skillllzzz)

Jughead holds the disconnected phone to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut and a headache threatening just behind them. There's a deep sigh, a bone-weary kind of thing that he can't stop from coming out so instead, he smacks the phone against his brow before taking off down the hallway. 

This is not the plan.

There are incredibly detailed and specific instructions that he's been meant to follow since they decided to take an actual vacation for the first time in, hell, forever. 

He and Betty are leaving for Riverdale in an hour to spend a truncated holiday at her mother's and then they're heading for a cabin, somewhere in the middle of the woods, to ring in the new year. 

This a wrench in the works.

And not just one of those cheap, little, open-ended kind of wrenches but a true, blue steel pipe wrench. Cartoon style. Right into his carefully laid plans.

_This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, I wish this wasn’t happening..._

His hand slips into his hair, slides through the unruly curls until his fingers find the perfect one and keep twisting it around until his scalp starts to feel sore.

"Jug!" The door to the bedroom flies open. Betty keeps one hand on the knob and rests the other forearm against the doorframe, eyebrow raised in tell-tale irked Betty fashion. "Is there a reason you've been pacing out here for the last ten minutes? Wait, are you green?

She steps into the hallway and every single word he's rehearsed while aiding to the denigration of their hall rug slips from his mind. Instead, when his mouth opens, what comes out is: "There's been an accident."

There's a moment he's not sure if she's heard him but it's a only single beat before she's white as a ghost. Jughead steps forward, frantic, and places a placating hand on either side of her face. "Okay, while that is not untrue, it's not like, bad, well it's not _not_ bad, it's just…" Betty's staring at him with a look that's bordering between confused and scared. He rubs his thumb over the apple of her cheek and tries to sort out the downward spiral that is his thought process before his mouth opens again. "Your mom had an accident. She is in the hospital. Hence the bad. But since she's the one who called to tell me this there's the not not bad."

She shudders as his hands slide from her face to her shoulders. "Okay, give me the details, and maybe start from the beginning this time."

His lips twist into a sheepish smile and he can't help but lean forward and press them against hers. When he pulls away the confusion is gone from her eyes but the fear lingers underneath. He takes a deep breath and does what she asks.

It turns out that Alice Cooper's, typically very practical, kitten heels and black ice do not mix. 

She had tried to brace herself, catch before she hit the asphalt, but she managed to fracture her right ulna instead. 

But of course, Alice being Alice, she wouldn't let a broken arm hold her down. No, she was able to right herself and call for an ambulance before the ice caught her once again and brought her down, this time taking her left ankle out in the process.

"So," Betty steps out of his arms and picks up the pacing she'd demanded he stopped,"you're telling me that on the morning of Christmas Eve, the day before my mother's most ridiculous fete, she's got one leg and one arm in casts?"

He scratches nervously at the back of his neck while he nods. 

"I get why you were green," she leans in and kisses his cheek, the whisper of her lips is all he feels before she's turned, back in the bedroom, with her phone to her ear. "Hey, mom…"

Jughead feels this sick wave wash over him and he knows, just _knows_ , he's in for the Christmas of his life. And he's _pretty_ sure not at all in the way he's planned.

Betty insists on driving. He doesn’t argue. 

They’re out the door and headed back to their hometown within twenty minutes of her hanging up the phone. She picks nervously at the steering wheel but other than that, it’s hard to see any true outward signs that Betty is remotely even stressed about this development.

Jughead, on the other hand, is on the cusp of being full-scale, internal screaming panicked, and they still have two hours to go. 

* * *

“Elizabeth,” Alice’s sharp voice carries over the foyer, not even the obscene amount of Christmas paraphernalia can lessen its impact. “You’ll have to stop at the pharmacy _before_ you go to the grocery store.”

Jughead tiptoes down the stairs, careful not to draw attention to himself as mother and daughter talk in the other room. 

“Then we should have stopped on the way. As I suggested,” Betty’s head shakes as she fluffs the pillows on the couch. “But you have to get back to rest. So you do that. Jug and I will handle all the errands you were supposed to be running today.”

He hears Alice scoff and can’t help just how hard his eyes roll as he descends the last of the steps. “I hurt myself here, Betty, so you’ll have two vehicles at your disposal. You can get my prescriptions, and that boyfriend of yours can do the rest of the shopping. If he can be trusted to do such a thing.”

A massive faux blue spruce blocks him from view and he’s thankful he has the extra moment to compose himself. “I think I can handle the grocery store, Mrs. Cooper,” he walks up next to Betty and pulls her hand into his before her nails can leave a single mark. “Let’s go, Betts.” 

Jughead can see by the way Betty’s jaw clenches that she’s fighting the urge to say whatever is cycling through her mind. He almost wishes she would but knows, unfortunately, with Alice changed into her most flattering pajamas and appropriately propped up on the couch, that there’s no way she’d do or say anything to tip the precarious scales any further. Her hand squeezes his then falls from his grasp. “Did you have a list?”

He steps back, running his now empty hand over the beanie that found its way back on his head. Over the years, and many, many insistences that he retire the old thing, the hat still finds its way into every overnight bag, and onto every adventure they have. There’s something about how familiar it is on his head, how it makes him feel like there’s more than just sarcasm and scowls between him and the rest of the world, that he feels he needs it when things are heavier than he can bear to carry on his own or when those little fears and doubts start to seep in. 

Even without Alice’s untimely incident, the hat was packed, tightly rolled up, and stuffed into the corner of his bag before he put any other items in. He knew better than to go to any Cooper family-related event without it. 

Jughead and Betty have known each other pretty much their whole lives. From childhood friends to middle school sweethearts broken apart by circumstance and space, they reconnected in college and have been inseparable ever since. But as much as he loves her (and he _loves_ her), he doesn’t care much for Alice Cooper or her pompous Christmas parties orthe fact that he and Betty are going to have to kick off their vacation by trying to make sure this year’s festivities live up to Alice’s exacting expectations. 

“It’s in my purse, but _you_ have to get it. And _you’re_ driving my car, I know you’ve got a lead foot but I trust you marginally more than him.”

The headache that threatened before comes roaring back to life. This vacation cannot come soon enough.

Running around the whole of Riverdale for hours, getting Alice settled into her makeshift bed, and handling the basic preparations for the events ahead have left Jughead exhausted. He climbs into Betty’s bed and waits, impatiently, for his girlfriend to join him.

“I can’t believe she is still trying to make us sleep in separate rooms!” The slamming shut of her bedroom door startles him enough that his phone tumbles from his grasp.

“Jesus,” he mutters, sitting up so that he can retrieve the dropped device. “You’d think she’d have gotten over that when we moved in together.”

Betty strips off her jeans and the festive sweater and slips into one of the many pairs of holiday-themed pajamas she’d packed. “Three years, Jug. Three! And you’ve been coming back with me for longer than that.”

“Well, to be fair, she actually thought I was sleeping in the guest room for at least the first two years,” he sets his phone on her nightstand and pulls her down onto the bed with him—arms around her waist, nose in her hair, the feel of her heartbeat echoing his. He breathes a contented sigh and loosens his grip ever so slightly. “But someone is _insatiable_ and managed to get us caught.”

She giggles softly, turning to nuzzle her face into his neck. “It’s a good thing we’ve had so much practice at this being quiet thing then.” 

“Is this the wisest thing to do with an already distressed Alice in the mix?” He tries desperately to resist the infinite temptation that is Betty. (He fails.)

“She washed down that last pill with a glass of chardonnay. I think we’re safe for the next few hours.” Betty shifts and is straddling him before that previous train of thought can rear its head again. As her hips grind into his, the only thoughts he has are _yes and more._ He hopes Alice is already passed the fuck out, because when Betty looks at him like that, there are zero guarantees about staying quiet. 

* * *

The sound pierces his skull. It enters quietly, a sharp, prick before it blooms into a hysterical wail that echoes off every surface of his brain. “What is happening?” He groans, reaching blindly for whatever the source of the sound is. He wishes the bed would just swallow him whole and put him out of his misery.

“Go back to sleep, Juggie,” Betty slips from his grasp and pads across the bedroom floor to silence her alarm. But the damage has been done and his eyes open to darkness.

“What time is it?” He grabs his phone and sees that it’s barely five. “What ungodly thing needs to start this early on Christmas?”

Betty scoffs, wrapped up in the soft fleece of her robe, and sits back on the bed to adjust her slippers. “Let’s see, the turkey needs to go in one oven and the ham in the other, all the appetizers need assembling, and the bar set up, not to mention the cleaning,” she stands, rambles a few more items off and is cut short by a shrill scream coming up through the floorboards. “And so it begins.”

“I’ll be down in a few,” he starts to sit up but is stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do that. You’re on vacation, Mister Jones,” she leans in and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

“So are you, and the least I can do is lend you a hand. I’m just gonna take a couple ibuprofen and I’ll be down.” Her lips find their way down his cheek, very near to his lips, and leave another soft kiss in their wake. His hand reaches out to catch her but she’s off the bed and at the door before he can properly react. He responds to the few waiting notifications on his phone before going to the bathroom and readying himself for this very early start.

He’s been around long enough to know just how crazy Alice can be during the holidays, and apparently, after the divorce—which happened a few years after he moved away—she’d only gotten worse. He witnessed it first hand when they had come back as freshmen, Betty with her new blue beau, Adam, and Jughead to see the Andrews. It was at Alice’s party that year when Adam met Charles, Betty’s older brother. The connection was immediate, and everyone in the room knew it.

Including Betty.

Who didn’t even get the chance to be upset because if she’d have ruined Alice’s party…

He had found her outside, crying softly as the snow fell. Not even that upset her boyfriend broke up with her but truly believing no one could ever want to be with her.

He held her hand, wiped the mascara streaks from under her eyes, and told her that such a thing was impossible. If he hadn’t already been in love with her before then, it would have been impossible not to be anymore with her haloed in the glow of twinkle lights, snowflakes on her lashes, rosy-cheeked from cold. 

The memory is always bittersweet. He hates the thought of her hurting but he’d be remiss if he didn’t admit it had given him the in he’d been vying for. And here they are, all these years later, together.

It’s those happy thoughts he holds onto when he walks into the kitchen. It’s already a veritable warzone, with Alice spitting directions at Betty from between her teeth.

“You realize I cook for Thanksgiving every year, right? I can handle a turkey,” Betty turns and visibly brightens when she sees him. 

Alice scoffs in the background. “Yes, but it’s always dry. If you’d just listen to me, it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Coffee, Juggie?” He nods emphatically as he steps into the kitchen.

“All of the coffee, please,” he leans in as he passes and kisses her on the temple. She gives him a little contented shimmy and goes to get his coffee. He leans against the island, facing Alice. “How are you feeling today, Mrs. Cooper?”

Betty sets the brim-full cup on the counter in front of him and winks as reaches for it. “We’re still waiting for pill number one to kick in,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Jughead, your area of _expertise_ is fiction, is that why Betty thinks she makes a good turkey versus a merely sufficient one?”

He wraps his fingers deftly around the too full mug and gingerly lifts it to his lips, losing only a few drops to the motion. “I happen to think everything Betty cooks is delicious,” he doesn’t break eye contact with Betty as he slurps the hot liquid into his mouth. 

She tries to stifle her laugh but jumps instead. Their happy moment is destroyed by the shattering of fine china on the tiles. “Do you have any idea how important this night is for me? My children have all abandoned me on my favorite day of the year. And one where I’m egregiously injured, no less. No one else can even show up and help the way I need to be helped.”

“Mom, if they _all_ abandoned you then why are we here?”

Even seated and under the influence of heavy-duty painkillers, Alice’s withering stare cuts sharper and deeper than most blades. “Yes, Elizabeth, why are you here when you could’ve just let me sit in that cold hospital room, all alone? Imagine me, in this state, trying to do any of this. The injuries could be horrific.”

“And that’s exactly why we’re here, Ms. Cooper. Now, what else do we need to do?”

He wishes he never asked. From that moment on, none of the day is his. No matter what mundane project he’s been tasked with, Alice seems to be right behind him, acid-laced commentary from how he folds napkins to how he mops the floor. Nothing is good enough. Not how he cleans the mirrors or rolls out puff pastry or loves her daughter. To him, the message from Alice Cooper is loud and clear: Betty deserves better, and he’ll just never be enough. 

Jughead watches as Betty glides around the party, drink in hand, charming everyone who gets the pleasure of her company. He throws back another glass of Macallan then pops a few of the unsightly canapes in his mouth.

_Yes, they aren’t much to look at but I assure you they taste much better._

Alice was right about one thing: they taste just fine. 

“Jug,” he hears faintly as the pouring scotch burbles into his glass. “Juggie, you remember—”

The hand on his shoulder turns him gently away from the solitude of the bar and back into Alice’s picturesque Christmas nightmare. He nods absentmindedly as Betty reintroduces him to people who he only sees once a year, shakes the hands of Riverdale’s bougiest, and wards off the venomous barbs Alice seems to interject in every conversation. 

“Did you know Elizabeth could make partner in the next year?”

Betty blushes and grips at the fabric of his sweater. “It’s just a rumor, Mom.”

“Of course it isn’t! You’re one of the brightest new lawyers in the state, they’d be lucky to have you!”

“She’s not wrong,” Jughead whispers into her hair. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head and pulls her tighter to his side. She smiles up at him, the soft, warm, only-for-him smile that usually makes the day seem brighter.

Except this day. 

“I wish the same could be said of you. What is it, three papers that have turned you down?” Alice sips from her flute, looking as flawless as ever in her wheelchair and Christmas colored casts.

“I do have a job, Ms. Cooper. Contrary to how you feel about freelancing, it’s a real thing,” the glass he just filled borders on empty again. He wonders if Alice has another bottle of the fifteen year laying around because he’s going to finish off the one that’s out. (And he’s pretty sure it’s half full.)

Alice laughs haughtily. “Freelance doesn’t pay your bills, Jones. Betty does. Time to man up before she realizes that’s what she’s missing. A man.”

He goes red, can feel the heat rising up through his neck to his ears and right out the top. “I don’t think your daughter has _any_ complaints about my manhood, Alice. But please, feel free to ask her about last night if you’re so concerned.”

Breaking free from Betty’s grasp he turns, fills his glass up doubly, holds it up in a mock toast to a seething Alice and runs to the kitchen before he makes this any worse.

Jughead stands at the sink, breathing deeply and trying to maintain some semblance of composure. He’s not sure what makes him feel worse: the idea that he’ll never be good enough for Betty, at least in her mother’s eyes, or that she doesn’t see just how hard he’s trying. How much more energy he’s expended this year, than any year.

And sure, maybe nobody else knows the extent to which he’s stashed his humbuggery to the side and tried to embrace the youngest Cooper’s enthusiasm for the holiday, but he has. And he’s tired. And everything hinges on him keeping it together for the next twenty-four hours— 

“Jughead!” Veronica’s voice cuts through the kitchen and him. Her heels click on the ceramic tiles like a second-hand counting down the last seconds of his life. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

She’s hissing, practically spitting mad, and he doesn’t blame her. If his best friend’s partner just embarrassed them, in a room full of people they’ve known their whole lives, he’d probably be pretty pissed off too.

Of course he doesn’t tell _her_ that. “Just leave me alone, Veronica. I walked away before my actions required a lecture.”

“Oh, you think so? Because what I witnessed most definitely requires at least a stern talking to.”

“Well isn’t that fan-fucking-tastic. So what, you’re going to tell me not to be an asshole to Betty’s mom when she’s spent, not just the last ten hours, but the last ten years making my life miserable? Well, sorry Veronica, but my give a fuck-meter is full, and I can’t, for the life of me, go back in there and play nice.”

Her arms cross over her chest, the arch of her brow nearly reaching her hairline as she looks him up and down. “I understand better than most why you harbor so much animosity, but you cannot take it out on Betty. You know she doesn’t deserve that.”

“You know, for once, it’d be great if anyone other than me could see just how much bullshit all this is.” Jughead pivots around Veronica and heads for the back door. The words “I’m going out for a smoke” never seem to get a response anymore so he rattles them off and heads into the cold. 

“So you’ve taken up smoking?” Betty pauses, looking him up and down, a sad smile on her face. “That’s new.”

He rolls his eyes and throws his head back against the garage door. “You know I’m not smoking. I just needed some air. Maybe also some space, and cigarettes are a surefire way to ensure a Veronica-free zone,” he thinks she laughs, but the noise from the party swallows up any silences between them. 

“Look, I realize this is not how we wanted our vacation to start. And I’m sorry that my mother is awful but you can’t say you didn’t already know that. And—”

“No, no, your mother _is_ awful, and I _do_ know that. What I had failed to realize before tonight is just how much your mother actually hates me.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you standing right there when she said I was a, and I quote, ‘perpetually out of work author with b-story bylines and a future staple of AA’? Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, doesn’t it?”

“Jug,” she reaches out for him but he dodges, slinking further into the darkness of the yard. Her arms cross over her chest and she holds the jacket tighter to her form. “Juggie, if I was standing right there I would have said something. You can’t think I would ever let anyone talk to you like that!”

“It doesn’t matter, Betty. It is now a truth universally acknowledged by all the people in there-—who look down on me, who think they’re better than me—that I’m destined to be nothing more than a carbon copy of FP, and that I am not good enough for you. Am I?”

Her whispered curse gets carried away on the wind so she squares her shoulders and starts again. “That is bullshit and you know it! The only one who ever thinks they’re not good enough is you!”

“This is not supposed to be happening!” Jughead shakes his head, his boots crunching heavily in the icy snow as he paces the small path down the driveway.

“Okay,” she says slowly, following a few paces behind. “Then would you please fill me in on what exactly it is that’s supposed to be happening, because I feel like I woke up in some nightmare dimension!”

“You did! This, Betts,” he stops and waves frantically at the house,“this is what’s wrong! We’ve been up since five, made more goddamn canapes than any amount of people could ever want to eat, scrubbed floors and toilets, and have been scorned, belittled, or ignored in the moments we haven’t been bossed around!”

“What did you want me to do, Jug? Leave my mother at the hospital or on her own when she’s expecting half the town?”

In his head forms the list of all the awful things Alice has done to them, from how the constant jabs about Betty’s weight to his failed writing career to how they’ll never compare to Betty’s siblings and their idealized lives. 

And then it hit. The meteor. It was surely going to signal his own extinction but they’ve avoided the topic thus far and were well past due. “Do you know why we moved?”

“What?” He can tell that she’s caught off guard by the wobble in her voice.

“Betty, do you know why I moved in eighth grade?”

After it spills out, he wishes he’d never opened his mouth.

* * *

He trudges through the slush until he sees the neon beacon of hope shining through the bleak winter’s night. Mostly he hates the idea of Pop’s being open on Christmas, but he’s sought refuge more times than he’d like to remember in the never-ending coffee and squeaky vinyl booths. 

He sniffles through the door, tracks of frozen tears carved out on frostbitten cheeks. Pop doesn’t say anything as he ambles over to his table, just grabs a mug and the full carafe and sets them in front of him. Jughead dips his head in thanks and pours himself a fresh cup of coffee with shaky hands. 

The events of the last twenty-four hours play through his mind and he tries to pinpoint the exact moment where everything went wrong. 

He, of course, knows the moment without having to Groundhog Day himself into reliving the worst fifteen minutes of his life over and over and over.

But he does it anyway.

Each time the look of betrayal and hurt on her face morphs into something more heinous, and the future he’s been so painstakingly planning for feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He rolls the mug back and forth in his palms, the delicate dance of watching the liquid slosh upon the sides yet not letting a single drop spill over.

But he’s never been good at delicate, and he’s nowhere near ready to face the giant mess he’s made of things. 

“Did you drink that whole pot of coffee already?” Jughead looks up to find Archie sat on the other side of the booth. He was so deep in his own thoughts, he hadn’t heard the bells. Or realize that he sat with his back to the door. “Yeah, Pop, we’re gonna need a lot more of this,” Archie yells across the empty diner.

“How could you not tell her?” 

Archie sighs and drops his head. “Jesus, Jug. Let the man refuel us before we unpack that shitshow.”

“It’s been over ten years, and she didn’t know that we moved because we caught her mom and my dad—”

Archie groans loudly and rubs angrily at his eyes. “Please, Jug, I thought I managed to get that image out of my head once and for all and now it’s back!”

He never mentioned that fateful night to Betty because he assumed Archie would have broken the news—especially considering the circumstances of the Cooper’s divorce. But no, true to form, Archie had kept that one close to his chest and Jughead had to be the one to spill it...along with the years of repressed anger and hurt that accompanied it.

“Okay, so now you don’t have to bear this burden alone, and Betty knows just how awful her mother is. Again.”

Pop drops a fresh carafe on the table, along with another mug, and gives Archie a loaded eye roll.

“Kid, as dumb as your friend here may be, I don’t think he’s wrong about talking this out with Betty.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you, Pop but this...This was supposed to be a pitstop on the way to our first, trueadult vacation. And I get it, Christmas at the Cooper’s is never a fun, lighthearted romp, but it was just going to be two and a half days and then...forever,” he scoops his beanie off the table and pulls it snugly back on his head as the old proprietor sighs and walks off. “Everything is planned, Arch. I mean, I funneled every iota of Christmas cheer and magic I could muster and poured it into this thing that’s going to be ruined before it ever has a chance to start,” Jughead stands up and rubs a weary hand across his forehead. 

“Jug, I don’t think anything is ruined, you need to talk to Betty.”

“That’s just it, Arch. Even if I can manage to salvage things with her _now_ , the rest of our week is already fucked.”

“You don’t know tha—” 

“I just,” he pauses, licking his lips, careful to choose the right words. “I just wanted a quiet holiday before we left for vacation. I know there’s no such thing as perfect but I’ve done everything in my power to make it as close as possible. It can’t be ruined!”

“So what the fuck are you doing here?”

The sound of that voice turns the blood in his veins to ice. His head snaps up and his eyes meet Archie’s, whose face is as red as his hair. He shrugs sheepishly in apology as Jughead turns to face the voice.

“Cheryl, I don’t have time for this,” he pinches his nose at the bridge and sighs. The last thing he needs, or deserves, right now is Cheryl proving all of Alice’s points about him. 

“Then make time, hobo, that is if you want to stand a chance in making my cousin your bride.”

His hand drops but the whole room starts to spin. He swallows hard before he dares ask what she means.

Cheryl flips her long, red hair over her shoulder and stalks toward him. “You left her, after this huge revelation with no real explanation, to fend off an absolutely addled Alice, who keeps referring to Charles’s boyfriend as Betty’s future husband. I wonder, is that weird, your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend is her brother’s current boyfriend?”

“Uhhh, isn’t your twin brother married to Betty’s sister? If we’re talking weird…” Archie withers under Cheryl’s gaze and snaps his mouth shut.

“Wait, Adam and Charles are here?” He tries to do the math in his mind, add up when he missed the fact that they were coming early so he and Betty could leave as scheduled. It’s all blanks. And that’s when it dawns on him exactly what Cheryl is talking about. “Fuck! Well, are you driving me back or what?”

“Let’s go, plebs,” she turns and heads for the door, both Jughead and Archie at her heels as they reach it. “You better start practicing all those fancy words, writer-boy. You’re going to need every sweet soliloquy you can spout to fix this mess.”

He slides into the passenger seat with the words to a thousand apologies on his tongue but a fearful hand holding tight to his heart. 

Jughead wastes no time after Cheryl parks the car, taking the steps two at a time before he throws open the living room door. But no one pays him any attention. They all go back to their conversations and cocktails and disregard the intrusion as if it were just a gust of wind. 

He scans the living room and den for Betty, but his ponytailed girlfriend is nowhere in sight.

He spies Alice, next to the bar cart, as glamorous as ever as she balances her champagne flute against her casted wrist.

“Ah, Jughead, so nice of you to come back. Are you here for your things? I’m sure Betty will be happy to throw them down to you,” she lifts the glass to her lips, demurely sipping as her sharp eyebrow raises.

He bites back the contempt he has for Alice and tries reason. “I’d just like to speak with her. I owe her an apology, at the very least.”

“Hah,” the older woman laughs. “You owe her far more than that. Like the last few years you’ve mooched off her succ—”

“That’s enough!” Betty walks down the stairs, tear stains on the cashmere, dark mascara rings smudged around her eyes. “You know, every time we come here I promise myself I won’t let you under my skin, won’t let you weasel your way between us, and every year it’s been easier and easier because I know what I want. But you are really pulling out all the stops this year.”

Jughead takes the opportunity to look at her, _really_ look at her, and sees the fraying and fragile edges wrapped in armor as she stares her mother down across the room. “Elizabeth, please, you’ve never known what you wanted. You only settled for the Jones boy when the one you wanted turned you down.”

Betty makes a face that borders on disgust.

“Adam didn’t ‘turn me down’, Mom. He and Charles had a spark, and far more in common than he and I ever did. They’re PERFECT together, just like Juggie and I are,” she crossed the room and twined her fingers between his. At that moment, he was sure his heart was beating so fast he would pass out. He drew in a shuddering breath and lifted their clasped hands to his lips, a promise to mend whatever had splintered that day.

“Honestly, Elizabeth, it’s only because I want what’s best for you, and I promise you it is not the offspring of FP Jones,” Alice throws back the rest of her champagne and sets the glass on the bar. Clumsy from the drink, the wheelchair lurches in their direction. “He’ll be stepping out on you before you know it.”

Jughead, try as he might, is incapable of keeping his mouth shut. “Like, sleeping with our child's partner's parent? Perhaps in the garage of another unsuspecting friend?” He can hear the scandalized whispers but doesn’t stop. “My story is not my dad’s. Betty’s is not yours. And our future is just that, ours.”

“Please, you’re a two-bit writer with a penchant for melodramatics and family history that reads like an out-patient roll call. My daughter could do so—”

Betty yanks her hand from his to march in front of her mother and deploy a very familiar-looking pointed finger in her direction. “The next words out of your mouth had better be a lengthy apology, and if they’re not going to be, I’m going to insist that my supremely talented, gainfully-employed, brilliant boyfriend go gather his things and we start our vacation a day early because this ends now.”

Alice, for her part, looks nonplussed. She rolls her eyes and waves her fingers dismissively at both he and Betty. “Go, be paupers together, see if I care.”

Betty narrows her eyes and a cold smile steals over her face. “You’re the reason I lost him for so long and I’ll be damned if I let you take another second from us. We’re packing and then we’re leaving, and you will only hear from me if and when I am ready.”

Jughead, like the rest of the room, looks on in enraptured silence and only moves when Betty grabs his hand and drags him up the stairs behind her. 

“I know we have a million things to talk about, but Jug, I am so sor—oof—” the door is barely closed when his lips descend on hers. All the weight that he carried, the shame and guilt and fear, dissipates as he pours all his love into the kiss.

“We’ll figure this out, right?” She presses her forehead against his and nods. Jughead suggests booking a room at the Five Seasons for the night and reset before their vacation. Betty happily agrees. The moment their reservation is confirmed, they walk out the door of the Cooper house and into, hopefully, happier times.

* * *

“Did you mention that your brother was going to be there?” Jughead grips the wheel tighter as they get closer to their destination.

Betty looks up from her scrolling. “Charles always comes home for New Year’s.”

“Right! But not for Christmas, not since…” He glances over at her and makes the _you know_ face before turning his eyes back to the snow-covered road. 

“For fucks sake,” he hears her mutter. In his periphery, he watches as she stretches and sits up straighter. “He hasn’t been home for a Christmas since, you are correct. But because of that, he’s owed me, big time, and I cashed in. Jug, you have been on pins and needles for weeks about this vacation, and I wanted to do everything I could to make sure we could go and this whole thing would go off without a hitch. Which, clearly, is not ever going to happen for us but when Polly said she wouldn’t be able to swing it, I called in the one favor I had.”

“Betty,” he wants to tell her that she shouldn’t have to think like that or bear the brunt of Alice or him or all the other bullshit she deals with day in and day out to make the lives of those around her easier but right now? Right now he’s counting all the lucky stars in the universe. After all they’ve been through, all the things they still have to work through, she’s still here. By his side. Trying to ensure he gets the vacation she thinks he wants. “I love you.”

It’s not enough. But it’s a start.

“Juggie, I love...oh my God. Is this it?!"

He's barely gotten the car in park before she's jumped out the door and wading through the freshly fallen snow. 

When he finally gets his bearings, he can't help but admire it too. 

The exterior is outlined with large glass bulbs and the way their colors shine through the snowflakes is almost hypnotizing. He grabs the bags from the car and makes his way up the candy-cane lined path, the lock code and a million other things converging at the front of his mind.

“It certainly looks festive out here,” he pauses, taking a deep breath before he swings open the door. The gasp from Betty proves that the interior must look the same. 

“Oh Jug,” she steps into the cottage and makes a b-line to the tree. It’s massive, nearly touching the ceiling, and decorated beautifully in silver and gold. It’s soft, warm light is almost swallowed up by the fire that burns in the hearth. “Did you do all this?”

He’s still standing by the door, bags at his feet, watching her take it all in and he knows that this is his moment.

He fights the voices in his head that are begging him to reconsider and takes a step toward her. “To be honest, we’ve had to play with the timeline a little bit,” another step. “There was a river hike and a picnic and a sunset, which of course are all still on tap, it's just, uh," another step but this time he reaches into his back pocket before the next. "I don't want to wait," step. "I know that I'll never be good enough for your mom, and I have finally come to accept that that's fine. Because you think I'm good enough for you, and that's what matters," a step closer. "Our whole lives, either as my friend or my protector or partner,” step. “It has always, always been you,” step. “And it always will be,” he drops down on one knee. “If you’ll have me, Betty Cooper, I wish for nothing more than to spend this lifetime by your side.”

She looks at the box, then at him, then back to the box and on and on and on so quickly he gets dizzy. “Juggie,” she breathes as he takes the ring out of the box.

"C'mon, Coop, what do you say? Make my wish come true."

He's spent the better part of his adult life trying to predict Betty's reaction to this question. And not once, ever, in all his dream iterations did he have “being ravished by the fireside in response” on his bingo card. 

Needless to say, the answer was one hell of a resounding _yes_.


End file.
